"What's the status of their torpedo tubes?" Kirk asked. That was the key. The only way this plan would work.
"Still powered up, but no sign of launching."
"Go to three-quarters impulse," Kirk said.
The whine of the runabout's engine began to rise in volume.
"They're bringing their warp engines online," Data said.
"That means they're getting ready to run," Kirk told him, and the rest of the unknown commander's strategy was suddenly clear. "They're taking their phasers offline, aren't they?"
"Phasers are offline," Data confirmed.
Kirk pressed Janeway's arm closer to his side. There were only seconds remaining. "Watch those torpedo tubes, Mr. Data. They're getting ready to fire and warp to a safe distance."
There was a rising tone of excitement in Data's voice. "Torpedo tubes are powering up!"
"Stand by for warp!" Kirk said. "Scotty— energize!" And then, just before the transporter effect drowned out all other sound, Kirk heard Data call out, "Torpedoes launching!" and Kirk knew the next three seconds would bring victory or oblivion.
Whatever happened, though, it would occur too fast for him to be aware of it. Which was why only Data could pilot this craft now. Because only the android had the speed and precision to do what had to be done in those few moments of transport, in the culmination of Kirk's daring plan.
The first step of that plan required that the Voyager be enticed into launching quantum torpedoes.
And that was because whenever a torpedo was launched, a momentary hole had to open up in a starship's forward shields; otherwise the torpedo would hit the forcefield and explode only a few hundred meters from the ship that fired it.
But, since torpedoes had warp capability, that opening would exist only for hundredths of a second.
Yet it was through that opening that Data now aimed the runabout, because to an android, those few hundredths of a second were like an eternity.
Thus, even as Kirk and Janeway dissolved into the transporter beam, Data pushed the runabout to warp, aiming directly along the firing line of the Voyager's torpedoes to the opening in the shields.
It was a given that such a course would bring the runabout into a collision course with the torpedo whose path it traced. But torpedoes were set not to arm themselves until they were a safe distance from their ships.
The forward screens of the runabout hit the selected torpedo. Well within that safety zone. Instead of exploding, as Kirk had anticipated the torpedo simply bounced off to one side.
And then, just as Kirk and Janeway had vanished from the transport platform, Data found the gap in the shields, and the St. Lawrence was traveling within the Voyager's protective energy screen.
The final stage of Kirk's and Janeway's transport was preprogrammed and almost instantaneous.
As Data piloted the runabout up the slope of the Voyager's primary hull, now shedding speed as quickly as possible, Kirk and Janeway were beamed directly to the starship's bridge.
And even as Kirk and Janeway were thrown forward, stumbling across the bridge's carpet, their trajectory halted only by the bridge's metallic guardrails, Data had already found the weak points in the starship's aft shields where the exhaust products of the warp and impulse drives were allowed to escape.
Operating at a speed that would cause human observers to simply see his hands as a blur, Data fired full phasers at those attenuated sections, knowing full well that shields were designed to give way in response to pressure from within. Otherwise, a small explosive device could be set off within a starship's shields, with the full force of its blast reflected back toward the ship by an impenetrable shell of energy.
But all these technical details—faced, dealt with, and exploited in less than a second—existed only in Kirk's mind. Because, by the time Kirk had fully materialized on the bridge of the starship, Data was long gone with the St. Lawrence, having found both his entry and his exit from the Voyager's shields.
On the bridge of the duplicate Voyager, broad and sweeping, metallic in finish, and accented by dark gray covering on the chairs and protective pads, Kirk whirled around to see a bridge crew of Cardassians leap to their feet, startled beyond belief at the sight of two humans who had apparently done the impossible and beamed through shields.
Kirk's bandaged hands throbbed with pain, because he had used them to stop his forward momentum from the transport. He doubted he would be able to get in more than one or two good punches before the Cardassians overpowered him.
But with luck, if Janeway remembered what she was supposed to do next, fighting Cardassians would not be among the things Kirk would have to deal with.
He looked past the gathering Cardassians to see Janeway standing in the center of the bridge as if she belonged there.
A large Cardassian female rose from the command chair to face Janeway. Kirk assumed that she was the Voyager's commander. And it was apparent she didn't recognize Janeway or understand what she might be able to do.
"Are you this eager to die, Terran?" the Cardassian commander said.
Kirk put up no struggle as other Cardassian crew members grabbed him and held him painfully in place against the bridge's guardrails.
It's all up to you, Kate, Kirk thought.
Janeway didn't disappoint him.
Before the Cardassian commander could reach her, Janeway lifted her head and said, "Computer: Captain Kathryn Janeway reporting for command duty as ordered. Emergency condition red. Transport control to the brig: Clear bridge of unauthorized Cardassians. Disperse anesthezine gas in all other Cardassian-occupied areas."
Before the startled Cardassian commander could shout out her countermanding order, the unflappable voice of the ship's computer said, "Janeway, Kathryn, voiceprint confirmed." Then one by one, in rapid succession, each Cardassian on the bridge vanished in a column of light.
Less than fifteen seconds had passed since Kirk had said "energize." And in that brief moment, James T. Kirk had gone from passenger on a doomed runabout to commander of a starship.
Then he caught the look of wonder growing on Janeway's face.
He understood why it was there.
And suddenly knew he couldn't deny her. Standing alone in the middle of the bridge, Janeway turned to Kirk.
"What . . . what do I do now?"
Kirk made his decision. Unlike most other starships, the Intrepid class, to which Voyager belonged, had no center chair. Instead, it had two chairs set back from the helm consoles, one for the commander, and one for the first officer.
"The chair on the right," Kirk said. "That's the one you want."
Janeway approached it, slowly, ran her hand along its arm.
Through her, Kirk relived his own moment of so long ago—on his first tour on the Enterprise. And even in the midst of all that was happening, he felt honored to offer a similar moment to the next in line.
"Take it," he said. "You belong there."
And so, fulfilling a dream so powerful it had crossed from one universe to the next, once again, a Kathryn Janeway took command of a Starship Voyager.
Kirk saw the expression of awe on the young woman's face as she contemplated the possibilities before her. Kirk knew as she did not that what she had just done was only the beginning.
Kathryn Janeway had been given a starship. Now, like all starship captains throughout time and both universes, Kirk knew she would have to earn it.
And he'd just bet Teilani's life that she would.
TWENTY-SEVEN
Picard thought of Worf, pictured Worf, became Worf.
Then, like Worf, but wearing the regent's armor over a lightweight discharge suit, he swaggered through the airlock of his personal quarters in the midst of the labor camp, and from its entry platform, called out for the nearest guards.
At the same time, Picard hoped his ridiculous disguise would work. Except for Teilani's insistence, he would never even have thought that such an impersonation would be possible, let alone have attempt
ed it. Looking the same was one thing. But there were so many subtleties of identity, so many facts that his duplicate would know by second nature, but that he would not. Picard feared he would be exposed in the first, inconsequential conversation he was forced to engage in. And even if he didn't have to speak, he felt the makeup Teilani had spread over the cut on his nose marked him as an impostor at twenty paces. She claimed it would not be noticeable in the shifting, plasma-storm light of the camp. He could only hope that would be true.
Surprising him with the speed of their response, two Klingons ran to him along the plasteel walkway leading to his building. Their heavy boots pounded like thunder. One of the Klingons was Krawl, killer of ensigns.
They saluted Picard and he returned it without conviction or interest, as he had seen the senior overseers express disdain for those who served them.
"Yes, Regent?" Krawl said eagerly.
"These Terrans are weak," Picard said, staring directly at Krawl until the Klingon had to look away. It gave Picard confidence that Krawl hadn't recognized him from their earlier encounter just that morning.
"A touch of the agonizer," Picard complained, trying to capture the character of his counterpart, "and they fold like children," He waved both Klingons through the circular airlock and into the building. As the Klingons entered, they stared salaciously at Teilani. But Picard directed their attention to the body on the floor, dressed in the discharge suit of a prisoner.
"Captain Jean-Luc Picard of Starfleet," Picard said contemptuously. "Counterpart to a vole, not an intelligent being."
The Klingons laughed.
"Well, pick him up," Picard said, as if in a hurry to rid his home of dead vermin.
Krawl threw the real regent's body over his shoulder, and expressed surprise that this Picard was still alive. "Shall we recycle him, Regent?"
Picard allowed himself to look tempted, but reluctantly decided against it. "That wouldn't be wise. Not till we're finished with the Enterprise. There might be other secrets about it we need to explore."
The Klingon guards dipped their heads in obedient agreement. "As you command, Regent." Then one looked back to Teilani. The fabric she wore had enticingly worked its way farther up her legs. Teilani had arranged it so, deliberately. Her hands were tied tightly together at the wrists, the better for her to appear helpless.
"What about the woman?" Krawl asked.
"She's coming with us."
Krawl seemed confused. "Where?" The delta-shift overseer shifted Picard's duplicate to his other shoulder with a grunt.
"To the command building," Picard said. "I'll take her. You take Captain Picard. Perhaps seeing what happened to him will inspire her to be more . . . cooperative."
The Klingon guards bowed low, not bothering to hide their leers. "As you command." Picard marveled that a mere human, albeit his counterpart, had earned such obsequiousness from Klingon warriors.
Not that he was about to complain.
"And one last thing," Picard called after them. "If my counterpart starts to regain consciousness . . ."
"I understand," Krawl said, turning back to look at Picard. "The agonizer."
"As long as he lives to scream another day," Picard cautioned Krawl and the guard with a smirk.
The Klingons laughed again and exited through the airlock with their burden.
Picard turned to Teilani and exhaled. "Do you think they bought it?"
"As long as they don't look at your hair too closely, you'll be fine."
Picard nodded, rubbing lightly at the back of his head. Teilani had pinned to his short hair the long braid she had cut from the Regent Picard. In the regent's discharge suit and armor, the long, Klingon-style queue was the last telling detail that had transformed Picard into his mirror duplicate. At least, physically.
He tugged down on his chest armor, then started for the airlock himself. "I'll be back as soon as I can."
But Teilani followed after him. "You're not leaving me here. Especially after you told the guards I was going with you."
Picard looked at her, uncertain as to what he should do. His inexplicable need to take care of her could compromise his effectiveness if they left together.
"I'm half Klingon," Teilani reminded him, "so I know what the guards here are like. And I'm half Romulan, so I know what they think of me. Either give me both disrupters
for protection, or take me with you as your prisoner."
Picard had a strange feeling of apprehension as he drew one of his backward-facing disruptors in her presence and held it on her. But the charade of making her his prisoner was the better of the two options. Left on her own, she was right— there was no way to be certain what fate might befall her. "Then walk before me," he said. "And remember, keep your hands together so they appear tied."
Teilani nodded and started through the airlock. Picard stepped through after her, disruptor high, trying to be like every Klingon he had ever met—with the possible exception of Worf's son, Alexander. That boy was far too gentlemannered for a Klingon.
As they marched along the plasteel walkways that ran anywhere from two to five meters above the asteroid's surface, Picard searched for any sign that the guards were being called back to put on pressure suits, in preparation of releasing the atmosphere.
"There doesn't seem to be anything different going on," he murmured to Teilani. "It's as if no one is aware of the escape."
"Or else, they've already dealt with it."
Picard winced at the thought. He refused to accept the possibility that any or all of his senior staff were lost to him, beyond help. "No," he said, as much for himself as for Teilani. "They got away. I know it."
Teilani kept her head down like a well-trained prisoner, watching the walkway, speaking softly so that only Picard could hear her. "Then perhaps the Cardassians who were with them were the regent's personal guard, and they haven't reported back to the overseers."
"Then why haven't they reported back to me?"
Teilani didn't have an answer for that. She just kept walking.
As they reached a long stretch of walkway without intersections, Picard took a moment to look up at the sky.
And, as always, seeing his ship filled him with an inexpressible longing.
It wasn't so much the fact that the magnificent vessel poised above him was the Enterprise. On her own, that name belonged to the ages, and he was just one of a chain of her masters, from April, Pike, and Kirk, to Harriman and Garrett, and who knew how many others there would be to take his place in the years and the adventures to come.
But more than just that name and that history, it had been the very idea of a starship that had compelled him to go into space. To take up the mission of Starfleet.
For a moment, as he gazed up at his ship, he recalled pacing her bridge, no more than two weeks ago, anxious for some other mission, some other challenge.
Something worthy of a starship.
And what was happening here was not worthy of anything or anyone. This travesty had to end. Here and now.
"Eyes front, Jean-Luc."
The whispered warning had come from Teilani, who had caught him continuing to stare up at the Enterprise so close to the bizarre construction Picard's crew had labeled the crossover device. Picard looked ahead, beyond Teilani, and saw that they were coming to a plasteel platform that served as an intersection among the walkways—the final one before they would reach the main control building where the shift alarm controls were located. All Picard had to do was get to that building and activate the alarm, not with one long blast, but three short ones.
That was the signal that would begin the escape attempt before the shift was over. That was the moment his people were waiting for.
Provided nothing went wrong.
But as he saw the delta-shift overseer and one of the Klingon guards standing on that final platform, supporting Picard's counterpart, Picard had the sudden feeling that something had already gone terribly wrong.
He shoved Teilani ah
ead to quicken their pace as if he really were her keeper, then made no effort to hide his displeasure with both Klingons. "How dare you stop without orders!"
But Krawl was looking at Picard with equal displeasure— and given that Krawl was an overseer and Picard a regent, that look was almost an act of insubordination.
"Picard woke up," Krawl said.
"And what were your orders if that happened?" Picard demanded.
Krawl did not respond with any sense of deference. "I take orders from the regent."
Picard looked at his counterpart. The regent was disoriented, barely able to stand without the help of both Klingons. A long thread of spittle hung from his mouth. Picard felt relieved that nothing of import would be coming from his duplicate for hours to come. He gathered his energy and seized the initiative. He only hoped he was not too late.
"Were my orders to put that Terran back to sleep too complex for your feeble minds?" Picard shrieked.
Krawl grabbed the true regent by the front of his discharge suit. The man's head lolled to one side. "I had an altercation with Captain Picard at the beginning of the delta shift," Krawl said. "A violent altercation."
"That's all these Terran scum understand," Picard said.
Krawl shook the regent. "But it has become apparent that this one isn't Terran."
Picard made no move to draw his twin disruptors, but he drew strength from knowing both were there. "Explain yourself, or get back to your duties."
"I used my agonizer probe on Picard," Krawl said. "I hit him across the face. Slashed him across the face. But his wound has already healed!"
If that's the best you have, Picard thought with sudden, deep hope, you don't have anything.
"The electrostatic field in these asteroids," Picard bluffed. "It affects the healing process, especially in Terrans."
But Krawl pushed forward until he was almost nose to nose with Picard. "If that's the case, Regent, then why is that cut on your nose not yet healed? Could the makeup you've used to disguise it be slowing the healing process?"
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